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We can’t have no dead-headin’! No extra trips just to bring the boogers over here to be took care of!’ Mrs. Feeley was an authority on the gasoline situation.
    ‘Okay!’ Lily grinned. ‘I’ll bring the formula, an’ the boiled water, an’ the orange juice, an’ the Pablum.’
    Miss Tinkham looked at her friends and they wondered if they had bitten off more than they could chew.
    ‘You’ll pick ’em up prompt o’ nights?’ Mrs. Rasmussen reminded. ‘No stoppin’ for a short beer on the way!’ The trio seemed to overlook the fact that Franklin and Winston, rosy balls of suet, were more than a mere nuisance to their mother.
    ‘Swear to God! Cross my heart! I’ll not leave youse stuck with ’em! I kinda like bathin’ ’em at the end o’ the day. Sometimes I take ’em right in the tub with me. They’re awful slippery, but they sure love the water!’
    ‘Well, their namesakes spend enough time on it,’ Mrs. Feeley remarked.
    Lily was fumbling in her pocket.
    ‘I don’t wanna insult youse or nothin’: but I wanna give five dollars now to bind the bargain. I’ll just owe that much less at the end o’ the week!’
    Mrs. Feeley took the fin and handed it to Mrs. Rasmussen.
    ‘Okay, Lily. Bring ’em in the mornin’! Don’t you forget: this is strickly at your own risk! We ain’t responsible for nothin’ but keepin’ ’em fed an’ changed an’ from swallowin’ safety-pins!’ Mrs. Feeley admonished.
    Lily nodded and departed hastily before the ladies should change their minds.
    The ladies looked at each other, poured fresh beer, and sat down. Mrs. Rasmussen fingered the five-dollar bill.
    Mrs. Feeley looked at the money and remarked: ‘Once them twins is installed here, we’ll be so wore out we won’t be good for nothin’! So let’s go out tonight an’ pitch a bitch!’
     

Chapter 2
     
    ‘ M IGHT’S WELL make a night of it!’ Mrs. Feeley remarked over her shoulder as the three friends entered the Pacific Gardens about midnight. The huge pleasure dome housed a large bar, enormous dance-floor, and a bowling alley.
    ‘Might’s well be drunk as the way we are,’ Mrs. Rasmussen agreed.
    ‘But what a change the war has brought,’ Miss Tinkham lamented, referring to the women clad in slacks and the men without coats. And she ruffled the frills of her beaded georgette dress smugly. She did not notice any of the other ladies wearing capes to match their frocks, but they were not exactly what one could call the dressy type anyway.
    ‘Yeup! This town sure ain’t what it used to be,’ Mrs Feeley agreed. ‘Was a classy bunch in these joints a few years back, but they sure ain’t nothin’ but rat-races now! Hardly no reg’lar Navy!’
    ‘You know what? Most o’ them guys is feather merchants an’ merchant marines. I kin tell is they Danish or Swedes!’ Mrs. Rasmussen volunteered.
    ‘After all, dear ladies,’ Miss Tinkham said kindly, ‘the important thing is not whether they are regular Navy or not: what counts is whether they are regular fellows or not!’ The ladies were about to air their views on the Naval Reserve when Mrs. Feeley noticed something out of order in a corner.
    ‘Hey! Looky there! That guy’s abusin’ that girl somethin’ fierce!’ She pointed to a booth near-by where a short, swarthy man with pock marks was threatening a buxom platinum blonde with his fist. They could not hear what he was saying, but he obviously was not making love to her. Mrs. Feeley scented a shakedown.
    The bully took her by the wrist and began twisting her arm. Such brutality was more than the residents of Noah’s Ark could bear. With one accord they rose, taking their beer with them, and walked over to the booth where the miserable girl sat.
    ‘Ain’t he gettin’ a mite too familiar, girlie?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.
    ‘Look, Toots! Don’t come buttin’ in where you ain’t wanted!’ the man said menacingly.
    ‘I don’t believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance!’